


Fate Twister Redux

by sgtlegendkiller



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Fate, Gen, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Original Character(s), Other, POV Original Character, Self-Insert, Twister - Freeform, d'rok, sgtlegendkiller, tallaham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6645526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtlegendkiller/pseuds/sgtlegendkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fate Twister Redux. The original story, Fate Twister, is being rewritten to fit better lore and standing in compliance to the 'LORC/FT" universe... The original will stay up where it stands. Enjoy readers. Book 2 of 5 Rated T for language and violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

SGTLEGENDKILLEЯ

Fate Twister (Redux Edition)

 

Act I 

“A Familiar Insertion”

Chapter I

“The Beginning”

 

Date: 2:12 P.M. August 5th, 2015

 

Home; a distant memory of what was one of the few peaceful segments that still lived on in my mind.  Deep within the horrific scars that make up most of my mind, hides a tender, young and optimistic individual.  Donald Harold Castor, a teen, or even more appropriately, a very young adult who had held a decent lifestyle at his home; a young and calmer tempered version of myself; a far more naive, uninformed, and much unprepared version of who I am today.  In that era of my life I had an entire road paved before me.  I had great grades, I was one of the most valued assets to my home town’s football team, I had a full scholarship to college, I even had a very steady relationship with a beautiful girl named Morgan Chase. Along with the grace of a car mechanic of a father and my stay at home mother.  I found myself however, using my abilities of advanced math and language skills, as well as my natural learning curve, physique, and intuition, not to get into some university, but instead to join the United States Marine Corps much like my father before me.  This is obviously held with no disrespect to the men and women in uniform, but I would soon come to realize that my decision to join had led to, easily, the least favored period of my entire life.  Nothing that my school teachers, the local Marine recruiter, or even the many stories of glory and hardship my father had shared with my family in the dark next to our fireplace could have prepared me for where the future would take me.  If I had to sum up the downward spiral quickly, and if it were at all be possible, it would most likely start around the year 2010.

 

In the middle of this year my lifelong friend, Michael Brook, and I both decided that after our final year of high school, we were to go through the ‘true American journey’ and join the military.  Within a few months of training for the physicals involved with the recruiter’s evaluation, we found ourselves walking into the local UMSC recruitment office located in one of the neighboring towns.  By this point we had become physically fit and were quite intelligent individuals, so we were enlisted with flying colors and were quite welcomed by the recruiter in result.  Once we had been enlisted it was only just a matter of waiting to ship out to basic.  The news and plan had already been fairly celebrated by my family, and many rounds of alcohol were passed about and consumed by everyone.  My father made promises of a getting me a, realistically, achievable car of my own if, and only if, we actually returned from our first tour of duty.  After this, goodbyes were the only thing shared before the two of us left to for Basic.

We did exceptionally well in basic training.  In fact, there wasn’t much that we found to be even considered as lackluster.  We simply handled everything that anyone threw at us with great performance and distinction.  Mike was clearly becoming quite the range man, though despite the both of us performing well with each other on an even level, I seemed to be the most well rounded of the two.  This trend continued on for us as we slipped into advanced training.  The only thing that seemed to hinder us was the excitement of finally getting assigned to a platoon and seeing some action.  We didn’t have to wait that long as we were quickly taken into the ranks and sent to Afghanistan.

 

After a little more than a year, we had made quite the name for ourselves.  Through several instances of seriously saving some lives in horrid situations, we had received the attention of some higher ups, and even some ‘privatized’ agencies.  Interestingly enough, we eventually found ourselves being pulled into a meeting with one of these agency representatives.  The representative informed us that we had been under evaluation ever since we were placed in advanced training. That the organization he was representing wished to offer us both positions of employment as mercenaries.  We were also informed that if we decided to accept the positions, they would wait for us to finish up the year of service in the military before we would be assigned for any sort of “job”.  With little thought of what we might face and the notion of being paid, and quite well at that, it didn’t take long before Mike and I accepted their proposition.

 

The few years to follow were all but slow paced.  We found ourselves bounding all around the world as private sector mercenaries for Skylark, the agency that had sought us out while still in training.  Through our many contracts and jobs, we had grown quite notorious as operatives; if there was anything serious that needed to be handled, we were on the top of the request list for many of our service’s clients.  Due to many high profile jobs, funded by some of the world’s most powerful companies and organizations I might add, we had racked up quite a profit over the years.  Sure, we had spent quite a decent chunk of it on our gear and traveling expenses, the rest went into a saving which we would split up evenly on occasion.  In the time that we were not on the other side of the planet, we spent it at home, in the same quiet area that we had been raised in.  Mike had his small house that was well adequate for whatever lady friend he would bring home.  I had my own place that I shared with my dog, Morgan, and a few restoration cars that my father and I would work on.  It was far from what we originally had wanted to do with our lives, but it was a decent living.

 

~*~

 

Their story would truly continue in the busy summer of 2015.  The two were currently seated on a homebound flight, on a Skylark owned Boeing C-17 Globemaster III, that was but a few minutes from landing at Papago Airfield in Phoenix, Arizona.  They had just finished up a lengthy ‘Hunter’ assignment and were heading home.  The flight had left Japan the morning before after an unsuccessful contract that had the two trying to catch a pair of targets from western Texas all the way to Seattle, Washington. Then eventually to the country of Japan.  It was grudgingly painful to admit that the two had willingly ended the hunt right before they would have achieved success.  It had been quite the expensive chase and would, in the end, be incredibly detrimental to their ratings within the company, as they were the main individuals on the contract.  The two weren't overly happy about it, but with a sense of tiredness and hungry bellies, they only wanted to rest in the comfort of their own homes.

 

Don was suddenly woken from his sleep by a painful smack on his shoulder.  He quickly looked over with a grimace only to see Mike pulling his hand back into his seat with a large shit-eating grin fit only for the finest jester.  To add insult to the injury, he was snorting loudly as he was doing his best to not laugh at such an action.

 

"Wake up, Don.” He spoke softly, still huffing softly as he struggled to keep himself from laughing. “It's time to get up and get ready school."

 

Don groaned loudly as he grimaced towards his accomplice.  “What the fuck, Mike… c’mon.” He sighed heavily before stretching back to check and make sure that his bag had remained untouched .

 

“Aww… Do you need five more minutes, honey?” Mike chuckled slightly as he gave his best impersonation of a woman’s voice.

 

“No… I need you to get off my ass about waking up.”

 

“How dare you!” Mike leaned away as if he was greatly offended.

 

“Mike.  Stop it.”

 

“That is no way to speak to your mother!” Mike proclaimed as the gag continued

 

“I swear to god I will break your fucking face.” Don glared at him.  As much as he hated Mike’s constant mouth, it was easily the most effective way to wake him up.

 

“Oh, calm your tits, fat ass.  Don’t get your panties in a fucking bunch.” Mike laughed loudly as he broke character.

 

Don just nodded as he rubbed his face in annoyance.

 

“Hey… Come on.  I will always be your hotdog, Don.” Mike gimmicked with a smile.

 

“Dude… I called you ‘Oscar Mayer’ once.  One fucking time!  That is it!”

 

“It only takes once to become a beef frank.”

 

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

 

“Neither does your face.”

 

“Fuck my life…”

 

“Maybe later… I have a very busy schedule with lots of shit to take care of first.” Mike stated as he looked at his smartphone as if he was swiping through such a schedule.

 

“What the hell do you have to do?”

 

“Well let’s see…” Mike hummed.  “I have three women planned for tonight, two bars to be kicked out of tomorrow, and then I have to join you with your family for the cliché ‘oh welcome home, baby boy’ picnic. He answered jokingly.

 

“You sound quite busy…” Don looked out the window of the plane at the sandy mountain scape of Arizona that seemed to slowly draw closer.

 

“Yeah!  I am!  Hell, I wish I could make that my job though…” Mike sighed.

 

“That job already exists…”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“It’s called being a porn star.” Don looked back, this time with a grin of his own.

Mike stopped for a moment to adjust himself.  “A star, huh?”

 

“Yes… a _porn_ star.”

 

“Why not a rock star?  I could play guitar or something!”

 

“No… You can’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because an M82 is not an instrument.”

 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

“What it means is…” Don looked forward briefly to see a few other mercs in the plane watching the exchange as the plane shook as it began its landing pattern.  “Is I am saying you are a talentless fuck.”

 

Mike just shot a quick glare at Don.  “Yeah, well you’re gay.” He proclaimed, having no further valid argument.

 

“I am still not as gay as your neck tattoo.” Don chuckled.

“Hey!  It wraps up onto the front of my chin and shit.  It’s badass!”

 

“Yeah…  Badass if you were a prison bitch.”

 

Conversations like this were quite common between the two as they had been the best of friends since they were about two years of age.  The two had a weird stint of a relationship that could only be described best as non-legal step brothers.  This was mostly due to the fact that Don’s parents had practically raised Mike in the same household.  Unfortunately, that situation was caused to form when Mike’s mother had been killed in a car accident when he was at the age of five.  His father was nowhere to be found.  With no extended family willing to take him in, Don’s parents stood up to the plate and took care of him, without the legal system getting involved.  Supporting someone else’s child all the way through high school without even an extra penny or tax break was really an extensive gesture for even the best hearted people; it had really painted a clairvoyant image at how decent and loving the Castor family could really be.

 

Just a few minutes later the pair were walking down the rear ramp of the C17.  Before the two had even left the shade of the plane, Don put the pair of aviator cop glasses that he had in his backpack.  This of course was mocked immediately by Mike, but such apparel was nearly mandatory on such a day like it was in Phoenix.  Once they had left the plane, they took a quick shuttle into the small agency hangar nearby.  They turned in all of their weapons and bags so that all the contract sensitive material was stripped of their belongings before their things were returned.  After they got their things were returned, they left the hangar through the offices that were attached on the other side of the building.  From the offices they went over a small sky bridge into a several story parking garage.  When they were just about to get onto the elevator to reach where Don’s car was, his phone began to ring.

 

“Who is that?”  Mike asked, surprised as he had not even seen Don turn off the airplane mode.

 

“I don’t know…” He sighed as he pulled out his phone.  “It’s Morgan…”  He answered the call quickly. “Hello?”

 

“Oh, shit!  Hi babe!” Morgan said happily over the phone.

 

“Hi honey.” Don smiled, he always enjoyed hearing her voice.

 

“I didn’t think you’d be on the ground yet, but I was just checking in case you were.”

 

“Of course…We just got to Phoenix and I’m heading out to the car now.”

 

“Did Mike bug the shit out of you?”

 

“You know he did.” Don looked over to flip Mike off as the elevator dinged as it reached their floor.

 

“Oh well… We all know him I guess.” She giggled.

 

“Yeah… He has always been unbearable.” He chuckled back.

 

“Hey!  Fuck you, Don!” Mike yelled out next to him in protest.  “Oh and tell her I said hi!”

 

Don just shook his head.

 

“What am I going to do with you two?” She sighed.

 

“We will discuss that later tonight, alright?”  Don gave a sly smile.

 

“If you say so…” She paused briefly.  “Did Mr. Japan say ok?  Did you guys make the sale?”   Don and Mike had never mentioned anything about the mercenary work to her or anyone else outside of the industry, for obvious reasons.  To everyone else they were security consultants and salesmen.  It was kind of a far-fetched cover, but it worked well enough.

 

“Unfortunately…  It was a no go.”

 

“Well…  Sorry babe.  You were on the road for a while so you two must have sold at least some things right?”  She asked.

 

“Yeah…  We made some.  But that Japanese guy was the biggest account we had on this run.”

 

“That’s not good.”

 

“Nope… But hey, I’m gonna get on the road soon so I gotta let you go, sweetheart.”  He said as they got closer to the car.

 

“Ok.  How long will it be before you get here?”  She asked.

 

“Probably about… 12 hours.”

 

“Ok!  Call me if anything comes up.”

 

“Of course, darling.”

 

“I love you.”  She said softly.  “Please drive safe.”

 

“Oh I will… I love you too.  Bye.”

 

“Don, I love you too.” Mike teased as the phone conversation ended.

 

Don ignored Mike’s banter as they turned the corner of the parking garage to see a blackened 2013 Shelby Mustang GT500; aka, Don’s car.  The beastly machine was the result of what he and his father had built together the year before.  While his dad had already given him a 2008 Dodge Challenger after Don had returned from his first tour of duty with the UMSC, he had a mutual bucket list entry of working on a racing Mustang.  With just a small amount of searching, Don was able to get a good deal on one that had already been mildly damaged.  Once they had it taken to his father’s garage, they would remove the engine and build a replacement one piece by piece.  Of course, they had done several other things to it, like the addition of dual straight pipes and upgrading all of the intake, fuel, and ignition systems.  The last things that were added were the metallic paint job and the set of darkened 20” Bullitt rims that fit quite nicely with the sports radials that were wrapped around them.  With a definite set of dark red stripes that ran along the sides and the top of the car, the machine held quite the menacing look.  Don smiled at the sight of his car.  With a smooth sense of motion, he drew his set of keys out of his pocket before catching the button dongle after spinning it around his finger.  He unlocked the trunk of the car before carefully placing his duffle bag inside.  Mike gave him a weird look.

 

“You’re putting the guns in the trunk?”  He tilted his head curiously.

 

“Uh, yeah.  They are full auto assault rifles, so of course I’m putting them in the fucking trunk.”

 

“Good point.” Mike shrugged.

 

Don closed the trunk before unlocking the doors to the car.  Before the two got in, they both set their backpacks in the back seat of the car.  Once in, Don spent a few minutes to make sure everything was where it had been when he had left; The Colt M1911 was stuck in a holster on the side of the center console, the pair of black fuzzy dice were still hanging from the mirror, and the seats had not even been moved from how they had been left as.  It was not that the agency’s security could not to be trusted, it was just the basic checklist to fulfil before inserting the keys.  With a moment to let the electronic systems to give their “all clear” on the dash, he turned the keys in the ignition.  With permission from its operator, the engine turned over before giving a loud growl that could be felt even in the protection of the enclosed cabin.  This voluminous bellow was softened as the engine calmed down to a soothing idle; its rumbling engine note could still be easily heard, but this was much more bearable in an enclosed parking garage.

He checked his mirrors before turning around to look out the rear window as he began to back out of the parking spot.  Once out of the snuggled resting place the car had been in, Don drove through the several levels of the garage before stopping at the security booths on the ground floor.  It only took a minute or so to clear through security.  As soon as Don had rolled several car lengths away from the booth, he stamped the accelerator down to the floor.  The tires spun as exhaust resonated madly throughout the parking garage.

 

“Tunnel bomb!” Mike hollered in excitement.

 

Don smiled; he always missed his car.

 

Before they hit the main roads to home, the duo made a quick stop at a gas station to fill up and inflate the tires to where Don wanted them.  The car, only sitting for a month, needed very little, and so they quickly were on their way to their hometown of Winnemucca, Nevada.  Most of the trip would be on US 95N, so with the GPS set, and the discography of Don’s mp3 player, the two relaxed in their seats and enjoyed the ride.

 

Later that evening, the trip had gone as expected.  They had made only a single stop just before Las Vegas to fill up once again and to get food.  They were making good time, and surprisingly, Mike had been quiet for the most of the trip as he had not hardly slept on the plane.  The clock now read 9:27 P.M. and the sun had set just two hours prior, and with only the small sliver of light from the new moon, this left the car’s headlights as the only light that was of any real significance to them.  There also was a somewhat lacking of other vehicles on the road.  It was not such a surprise to either of them though, it was a Wednesday night after all.

 

“You know what I don’t get?” Mike spoke up suddenly over the volume of the music.

 

“What is it?” Don asked as he turned the music down slightly.

 

“I don’t understand why we just let the two go…” Mike was referring to the last assignment that they had failed.

 

“We have been over this.” Don really did not want to discuss it again.

 

“Yeah, but still!” Mike sighed heavily.  “Dude… they were looking down the barrel of your gun!  Why the fuck did you just call it off then.”

 

“Because they were just kids, Mike.  What was I supposed to do?”

 

“ _He_ was a kid, that HIS Interceptor was not.”

 

“You know very well she was too.”

 

“Nope!  I am not going to that realm of mind fuckery!” Mike exclaimed. “That ‘she’ was a rogue autonomous Interceptor run by a rogue artificial intelligence… Jesus I’d never think I would say that!”

 

“Mike! Come on!” Don was getting a bit upset with this.

 

“Don’t you cmon me, you son of a bitch!  We chased a fucking robocar from Texas to Japan and then you just give up with it right in front of you!  What the fuck?!”

 

“You were in the air, jackass!  You were not the one with the gun on them, so you do not get to make that call!” Arguments like this, just like their joking, was another common attribute shared between the two.

 

“Quit referring to them as ‘them.’ It was just the guy and the Interceptor.  The car isn’t a her…”

 

“Her name was Mia.”

 

“I wouldn’t give a fuck if it called itself the ‘mystical, magical, amazing dildo printer machine!’” Mike proclaimed loudly.  “That _thing_ was a computer thingy and you know it.”

 

“Why would a fucking AI grow attached to a regular guy then?!” Don challenged heavily.  “Why would it include the breathing of a distraught and scared woman?”

 

“I do not fucking know.  Who died and made you the fucking Socrates of Psychological Labeling?!”

 

“Hey!  at least I passed that class in school!” Don shot a glance at Mike.

 

Mike grumbled heavily; Don had delivered a hefty blow.  “It was the only class I failed in high school!”

 

“Yeah?  So what?!  You probably don’t even know who Socrates is!”

 

“Yes I do!” Mike struggled with this argument.

 

“Name one thing he did.”

 

“Oh go fuck yourself, Don!  You bring that fucking class up one more time I will seriously rip your guts out of your ass with a plastic spork!”  Mike admitted defeat.

 

“Whatever…” Don sighed. “The point is that the two were on the run together for a reason.  I saw their desperation and did what I would want if I was in their position.  Alright?”

 

“Fine.” Mike said tautly.

 

“Thank you…” Don exhaled as he now focused on the road again. The trip grew quiet for another few minutes.

 

“Ugh…” Mike grunted from the passenger seat.

 

“What?”  Don exhaled slowly.

 

“I hate this stretch of road.  We might even be home in an hour if you weren’t going so fucking slow!”

 

“I’m going the speed limit.”

 

“So??  You drove a Corvette at almost 200 just recently.  Balls up, big boy!  Let’s go!”  Mike exclaimed, once again referring to the previous assignment.

 

“No.  End of story.” Don did not feel like getting a speeding ticket.

 

“Why not?  Are you afraid this piece of shit can’t go that fast?”

 

“I bet it would.”

 

“You’re a fucking liar.”

 

“I am not fucking speeding!  So shut your trap and go back to sleep!”

 

Mike huffed.  “Why can’t you be let us have fun like we were having two weeks ago?”

 

“You are only saying that because you were flying a helicopter!” Don grumbled.

 

“You bet your ass I was!  And it was not just any helicopter!”

 

Don gritted his teeth.  “Yes… an Apache Long Bow.”

 

“A god damned Apache Mother Fucking Long Bow!  That is abso-fucking-lutely correct!” Mike answered immediately; as one could tell, he had always had been a huge fan of helicopters and flying in general.

 

Don did not give a response to this.

 

“Come on!  Let’s go, Speed Racer!

 

“Why?!”

 

“You reminded me Knight Rider.  Cmon!  Let’s get this KITT mobile going!”

 

“No.” Don answered without hesitation.

 

“Holy shit!  You are such a pussy!” Mike hollered.  “If you get into any trouble I will pay for it 100% in full; bail and all!”

 

Don, knowing full well that Mike would simply never give up, quickly downshifted into second as he slammed the gas pedal to the floor.  The rear tires squealed briefly at the sudden increase of horsepower and torque getting transferred to the road.  They quickly regained traction just before he shifted into third gear, effectively setting the both of them back in their seats as the engine began to tear through the gears.  Mike yelled in excitement as he was pressed harshly against the seat and Don smiled widely as he realized that the experience was as is just how he had always remembered it as.  The adrenaline from driving the needle towards one hundred and fifty miles per hour; the satisfying whine of the Whipple supercharger; it was all part of a dreamy experience that most would never get the chance to experience in their lifetime.  The experience was soon cut short as the car began to suddenly shutter as it swayed heavily to the left as it had nearly reached the one hundred and seventy-five mark on the speedometer.  Despite the seemingly random jarring of the vehicle’s mass, Don swerved slightly before regaining stability of the vehicle.

 

"Don!?  What the hell?!” Mike looked over sharply as Don began to slow down while returning to the middle of the road.

 

“I don’t know…” Don answered confused.

 

“Did we hit something?!”

 

As Don was going to answer, the Mustang lurched yet again.  This time, however, the engine screamed wildly as the two were yet again shoved back in their seats.  He cursed loudly in surprise as the car began to accelerate without him even touching either of the pedals.  The thought that the throttle cable had snapped quickly entered his mind as he attempted to hold down the clutch in efforts to end the acceleration.  For whatever reason, the clutch pedal would not depress to the floor even slightly.  A sense of fear quickly washed over him as he found that, much like the clutch pedal, the brake pedal, too had stiffened so much that it was stuck.  As the speedometer rapidly rose, he began to panic as he tried finally to rip the key from the ignition.

 

“Ok, Don!  You can stop now!” Mike shouted nervously over the screaming engine.

 

“I’m not fucking doing anything!”  Don yelled back fearfully before the head of the key broke off from the shaft.

 

Don’s gut sank as he looked at the key piece in his hand before looking over to see the needle bury against the speedometer’s maximum measurement of two hundred and twenty miles per hour.  He dropped the key and took a tight hold on the steering wheel as the Mustang continued to somehow accelerate well past what it had been built for.  Suddenly a supernaturally disk shape, basically, what could only be described as a rippling black hole, appeared ahead of the vehicle.  Before he had even a moment to try to turn the car from it, the Mustang barreled right into it.  As the vehicle raced through the aperture, a deafening explosion sounded out that left the two dazed and with pained ears.

 

They barely had a moment to regain some of their senses as the windshield was enveloped in complete and utter whiteness.  As their hearing began to return and their eyes somewhat adjusted, the could instantly feel the weightlessness of the car and themselves as there was a clear lacking of any surface under the wheels.  The two began to scream as the car seemed to nose dive towards an abyss of black below the current plane of existence that they had entered.  As the car freely fell into the abyss, all forms of noise and visual sense seemed to fade drastically to a numb nothingness for Don.  Their screams had been pulled from their throats and their sight had been hidden from their retinas.  The only thing to be felt was the chill of his body heat being sapped by the void.

 

After what seemed like an hour to his perception of time, he felt a growing burning within himself.  As strange as it was to describe it, he could hear himself shiver from this through his mental realm.  The shiver was followed by his own breathing that quickly became quite labored as the pain swiftly began to grow in intensity as it started to feel as if his skin was beginning to crawl in place.  A series of audible snaps sounded out, each shooting an extremely spike of pain throughout his body.  The snapping sounds went on for several moments, each leading to him convulsing heavily as he cried out in pain and agony from the experience.

 

The pain abruptly stopped as another flash revealed another light disk that appeared in the distance in front of the car.  There seemed to be a sudden ripple that roared through him.  As the concussive wave tore through his body, the cabin of the Mustang was illuminated in reddish light.  His vision was quickly blurred and his hearing had partially returned as he was once again shoved back into the seat as the car rocketed off towards the distant disk.  From the forces being exerted on his body and the lack of clear sense of vision, he could not begin to try figure how fast the car was traveling.  As the disk grew closer and closer, his nerves became stiff with fear as Mike began to scream next to him.

 

The next thing that the two could gather from their senses was that the car had once again entered a physical realm.  With their vision still quite out of focus and the car still traveling well over controllable speeds, the two were far from relieved.  Too much of his luck, Don could feel the pedals were once again able to be used.  Knowing this, he quickly stamped the brake to the floor.  This caused the tires to lock up and leave the car decelerating slowly from whatever speed it was traveling.  While the locked tires were working efficiently to slow the vehicle down, but it led to another complication as the car began to turn and sway.  He did his best to keep the car straight, but his arms felt weird and useless.  The right rear quarter panel of the car hit something solid as the car slide back in forth.  The impact sent the car swiftly towards the other direction and into a sideways roll as it continued on with its direction of momentum it had previously.  With their world spinning wildly, the two were completely at the whim of the forces until it decided to stop rolling.  The last thing Don could piece together was the quick passing view at an approaching wall that the car would soon slam against harshly.

 


	2. The Ashes in the Wake

SGTLEGENDKILLEЯ  
Fate Twister (Redux Edition)

Act I 

Chapter II  
“The Ashes in the Wake”

It had grown quite dark for me. After I had fallen unconscious I found myself in a strange state of limbo; it was a niche in between the great mortal divide, where one is not necessarily dead but you know you're not quite alive. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no light to look up to from the darkness. Time had no meaning here as there only seemed to be the blanket of the void around me. My body failed to respond to any sort of motion I attempted as if I had been paralyzed from the neck down. The only thing that I really could hear was the sound of my constricted breath. The fact that I could not keep track of time was probably the most frightening part of the experience. It caused everything to fade together as I was wallowed in the darkness.

Eventually, after the ‘brisk’ eternity of nothingness dissipated, visions and feelings of every memory of pain and discomfort that I had ever experienced began to project before me at, what seemed like, a thousand miles per hour. These painful mementos started to surface from the earliest corners of my childhood. Everything from throwing up from the flu to the feeling every time that my mother’s hand graced my ass in discipline. Once these had played out, then came my teen years. Past all of the scrapes and breaks and fractures from playing football, and onto the vivid pains of my adulthood. Two that stuck out in the montage of hell were the times in which I had taken a round from an AK-47, right through the meat of my left thigh and when I had received a concussion from falling two stories off the drop rope of a UH 60 Blackhawk in the Marines. Luckily, once these had run their course through the filter that was my memory, the pleasantries of more desirable times began to play before me. They seemed to be mainly of those who had been close to me in my life.

I always had the fondest memories with my father. He had always been quite stern on teaching the lessons of life to me. Yet, despite this, there was always a sense of deviance to him that would allow much fun to be had. To best describe him would be that he was one of those guys who would race the muscle cars from the 1970s around the streets, while blasting early Exodus and Metallica tapes. He was very supportive of most of the decisions I made in my life; from the basic interests I had as a child, even up into my enlistment into the military. As much as I could not really tell him about my post military life, we still had kept close; if he wasn’t at my house working on a car, I was at his spending time with him and my mother.

One time in particular that stuck out to was our most recent project car, a 1969 Plymouth GTX that they had purchased from a farmer in a neighboring town. It was quite the extensive project, needing full restoration and a huge level of replacement parts from the decades of sitting in a corn field. The most ironic part of the project was towards the end when it had nearly reached completion. We had just replaced the engine with a totally rebuilt, 440 Six Pack, and had thrown it in perfectly only to find out the hard way that the fuel rails had not been fastened. This wonderfully stupid mistake resulted in a gasoline fire that almost took down the whole garage… I had never heard my father curse so much in his entire life.

Of course he never cursed around my mother; for she was a well-mannered and a firm stay at home woman who took literally no amount of shit from anyone, though she always meant well with an overly optimistic outlook on life. No matter how many times she had to scream our full name across the property or how many times she had to exert her authority, she would punish and send Mike and myself down the right direction on being well behaved and gentlemanly. It was what we needed. What I received from them was a good outlook on life and a strong work ethic. One of the greatest times I had with my mother was seeing how much she lost her head over seeing Morgan and myself off to senior prom. It is such a weird transition period in which a parent realizes that their child has now blossomed into an adult. I knew my mother felt this as I looked in the rearview to see her standing in the doorway of our home crying in the arms of my father as we left for the evening all dressed up in my father’s Chevelle.

Morgan was an amazing woman from Winnemucca that I had come to know through a football game in her junior year of high school. She was at the game rooting for the Winnemucca team; after they had won the game, she had approached me she to simply ask to borrow a dollar for a bag of popcorn. I of course offered to just buy the popcorn for her and we ended up talking for quite the extensive amount of time; little did I know this woman would become the love of my life. She had stuck with me faithfully through my tour in the Marines and through all of the time that Mike and I had spent away from home on our ‘security sale’ rounds around the world. It was quite saddening to me to now know that our trip home had been halted. I was planning to get engaged to her.

The instances that were running through my mind were not all pleasant. One that heavily sparked my attention was one scenario from his tour of duty with the USMC in 2010; it was of first serious firefight I had ever been through. It was here where I would learn that, in combat, no one has time to grieve the dead and dying. In the later parts of that year, Mike and I had been placed into a Company that was located in Afghanistan. One day there was to be quite a high value of altitude sensitive material to be transferred from our base to another. With a convoy made up of six Humvees, a pair of M1120 HEMMTs, and a single LAV-AT, we were heavily defended for our moderate trek. I had been set up with my M240L in the third Humvee of the three leading the train. Behind us was the LAV followed by another Humvee. After the fourth Humvee was the two HEMMTs with the remaining two Humvees bringing up the rear.

Though the temperature was blazing compared to what most Americans were used too, I don’t remember it being as hot as it would normally be. To be fair, it was always hot in Afghanistan and that was even with shade and a fresh supply of water. For what it was worth, the scenery made up for the somewhat hellish climate that seemed to stay as a constant. Even from the thick window of the back seat of a Humvee, the mountain ranges gave quite a view; it sort of reminded me of home.

“So… This isn’t all that hot for you, is it?” The Marine in the seat next to me asked. 

He was a fellow leatherneck hailing from Idaho named Nikolai Garstrov. He was quite the interesting character to say the least; due to the fact of his near stereotypical Russian name without portraying even the slightest accent led me to dub him with the fond nickname of the “Pseudo-Ruskie.” Nikolai had always been easy to get along with as he was a good fit for the usual bullshit that Mike would throw my way.

“It is, kinda…”

“Really?” He gawked as if he was surprised with me. “I haven’t heard you complain about it yet.”

“I don’t like to complain.” I responded with a slight shrug before looking back out the window.

“Well, I know that… It seems like you like what you are doing here, though.” He pointed out.

“I do.” I answered with yet another shrug.

“Are you going to be a Lifer?” Nikolai questioned.

Before I could answer, our driver, Chad, spoke up. “I bet you both one hundred bucks that he is!” He laughed towards the other passenger, James, and Nikolai.

“Nah man! Have you seen his lady back home? He ain’t staying in the corps away from that.”

I just smiled and shook my head from such antics; all of this made the time go by.

As we passed through a town on the route, our conversation would soon be cut short as the deafening sound of an explosion from behind shook our Humvee. The startling sound sent everyone into a panic as we tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. We would soon piece together that an improvised explosive device, that had been set in the middle of the street we were passing through, detonated just between the middle Humvee and the first HEMMT, causing crippling damage to each of the vehicles. In our attempts to collectively piece together the situation, we failed to notice a rocket sailing its way directly at our vehicle from the roof of a nearby building. 

The rocket slammed into the hood of our Humvee, causing a deafening force of concussion to tear throughout the cabin as the front of the truck was split open like an anchovy can. Even though my ears took a beating and my consciousness was quite shunted from reality, it was obvious that Chad and James had been killed from the explosive’s force on the front of the truck. The next moments were blurred heavily and I was rendered solidly numb until Nicolai desperately was shaking my shoulder in attempts to bring me back to clarity.

“Don!” He screamed, terrified. “Get the fuck up, man! C’mon! Don’t die on me!”

To give him some sort of answer, I gave him a quick wave as I sluggishly began to check myself for any damage. Happily, there was none, I was fine.

“We need to get the fuck out of the truck! The convoy stopped!”

I could barely hear him to begin with, but I could just faintly make out the sounds of a firefight building quickly. He was right though; we could not stay here. I popped open the door and got out as fast as I could in my still heavily dazed state. Once my boots hit the sand I found that it was somewhat difficult to stand for a moment. To counter this, I had to rest my weight briefly against the rear wheel well of the Humvee as I secured my M240L. There was hardly time to even gain my thoughts as it would seem, for I looked up just in time to see a trio of insurgence members turn down the alleyway that was right next to our, now, destroyed truck. With hardly a questioning second, I raised the weight of my light machine gun with the trigger held. Despite my weapon making quick work of the insurgents, seeing them die was devastating to me. These were my first kills. 

Dissociation is key; they tried to kill you and so you acted. It is only natural.

As their bodies fell in shambles, I felt my nerves numb and my veins race as the need to act was quickly becoming apparent. My hearing was met with the sounds of nearly endless weapons fire with the occasional shouting. Nikolai soon came to my side of the Humvee as several rounds from enemy fire pinged off of the rear of the truck. Both of our heads ducked down behind our cover as we looked back in time to see the LAV roll forward as its rotary 20mm began to spray at whatever contact it had towards the enemy. Back with the convoy, one of the transports had been hit with a rocket in the front grill and had come to a stop at an angle that nearly blocked the entire street the convoy was going through. The other Humvees had moved around to form a sort of brace line before the transports. Sgt. Stacker, the head guy of the convoy, could be heard over the radio for Don and Nikolai to fall back to them.

With the cover of the light armor and the suppressing fire of the convoy’s blockade, we ducked our heads down and frantically ran toward the others. Miraculously, Nikolai and I somehow avoided the enemy fire that would occasionally strike the sand besides us. To our relief, we eventually found ourselves sliding into the safety of the Humvees of the blockade. With the mass of steel and armor, it would take a lot of luck on the insurgency’s part to get a direct hit on anyone still alive in the convoy. We hardly got a second’s rest before the Sergeant began to bark out orders to us. It was to be expected; if we were to both ward off the insurgence and survive the attack, we would need to act accordingly.

“Caster! Get that ‘Pig’ up on something and fucking help suppress those bastards!” The Sergeant yelled as he pulled himself down into cover from firing his M4A1 over the sloped rear of one of the Humvees.

I yelled back quickly to confirm his order before I moved with haste to the other side of the Humvee that I was currently behind. I swiftly extended the bipod of my M240L before setting it up on the hood. My lungs hurt; my breathing was desperate and panicky. I had never seen combat like this in my life, it was all so new to me. Despite this, I did what I had been trained to do as I did my best to get any hits, or suppress the enemy. It didn’t help that there seemed to be a never ending supply of them. I knew that our cargo was fairly important, but the insurgents seemed to want it a bit too much. Nevertheless, the blockade was not going anywhere. 

Several minutes passed in a frantic blur. Of course this seemed like an eternity to me. Nikolai provided me ammo belts in between reloads so that the weapons could remain free and of use. The .50 M2 machine guns on the Humvees were essential to our effort as we waited for both reinforcements or for the end of the fight to come. As much help as the LAV had provided earlier on, it ended up not aiding us for very long as it was destroyed after a few long moments by several rockets from the insurgents. To great fortune, we were very soon after joined by a pair of M1127 Stryker Recon Vehicles and a single M1128 Mobile 105mm gun that were on a nearby patrol and had responded to our convoy’s call to arms. It was a surprising amount of mobile armor to just roll into our fight, but as we saw the trio of Strykers slam through a stone wall off to the right side of the roadway just in front of us, our spirits were greatly lifted.


	3. Of Wolf and Man

SGTLEGENDKILLEЯ  
Fate Twister (Redux Edition)

Act 1 

Chapter 3  
“Of Wolf & Man”

It was unknown to Don on how long he had been asleep. He felt physically plagued with pain and he didn't know whether it came from the crash, or something worse. He feared it may be the latter as he had some difficulty in breathing and opening his own eyes. With this, his mind quickly turned to panic as he now realized he could not move any of his limbs. His eyes flew open and he was rendered terrified by the fact that even with them wide open, only a blurred plane of white was visible. His ears rang painfully, overwhelmed by whatever acoustics were around him. It was almost as if they had never been used. Instinctively, he tried to wipe his eyes free of the dark and heavy haze that was inching into his view. However, he found himself unable to do even that. The feeling that his body had been bound down at not only the wrists and ankles, but at his thigh, midsection, and neck as well. A surprisingly deep toned grunt left his startled throat. To add even more fuel to the strange feeling in his face, he felt his jaw part strangely in unison to the sound he found himself making. 

Surprised greatly by this, he spouted? a confused questioning expletive. Unfortunately, his attempt at vocalizing against his situation went drastically south; his split jaws moved spastically with the words, and though he could barely hear what came out of his mouth, what he said like a deep tone version of his voice just stuttering off a random warbling line of noises. After throwing out whatever he had just said, he felt his gut twist. He could feel his jaw pull back together fearfully as they reflected his quickly diminishing mental stability.

"Sir! He is coming too." A voice off to his right spoke up suddenly.

"I know. I have been watching him." Another voice spoke next to his left side.

Don jerked against whatever it was that was holding him to the surface beneath him. He was delighted to hear and see the very faint outline of the people, as it was proof enough that he was far from dead, albeit it was hard to even in his condition. 

"Jesus... I still can’t believe how big he is." The voice to the right spoke with a chuckle. "Is it too cliché to say I am kind of scared?"

"That is enough, Wates" the voice to the left seemed to snap at the other. "Donald..." he spoke a bit forcefully towards Don.

Upon hearing his name, Don did his best to turn his head as much as he could to look at the blurred figure. Due to the restraints, that was hardly any movement at all.

The voice to the left cursed under his breath. "C’mon you big bastard. Wake up."

The man hardly gave Don a moment to try to form even a nervous reply before a bright light was shining into his still eyes. He felt his pupils construct harshly and his vision became clear within an instant. Such a sudden sharpening was accompanied with a now clear sense of hearing.

"Interesting..." the left man noted with a gruff exhale. "They seem quite responsive to direct light”

To Don's surprise, his eyes suddenly could see in perfect clarity. Unfortunately what he found himself viewing was something that would do nothing to comfort him. Before him was a fairly bland small room. All of the surfaces clad in a dark grey metal finish. For the time being he could only see directly forward; he was still disoriented despite having clairvoyant vision. On either side were two men, which the two voices belonged too. Other than the fact that they seemed quite small in relation to Don, Mr. Right really had nothing too much to deceive as he was in a medical scrub with a set of face and head coverings. 

Mr. Left was greatly more of an interesting individual. Dressed fully in a black leather clad uniform, the man stood with a certain stance of authority as if he was something of importance. Everything about him screamed order and precision. The well cared for and, carefully cut black hair on his head was combed back evenly, with just the right amount of bristle spacing and gel to keep the hair laying flat and smooth. The only thing that was not symmetrical with his wall shaven face, was a small vertical scar over the right side of his upper lip. Don did happen to notice that on the man's leather jacket there were two patches on either shoulder. One, that he couldn’t seem to make out, and the other that simply had the elegance of multiple letters that spelt "Weaver."

"Ahh... it is good to see your awake, Donald" This Weaver man spoke with a grim smile.

Don, still quite terrified, stammered slightly. His nervousness was at the care for the man's words and for his own sake. His mouth spread with each hawking failure at words. His mouth had become quite alien to him, yet he could feel some similarity in how the muscles worked.

"So let me get this straight..." The Weaver man turned slightly to take a file from a desk nearby. "Donald H. Caster. Born April 15th, 1990. Six foot two, brown eyes, and brown hair." The man hummed as if intrigued.

Don stopped moving his strange mouth parts as the man began to rattle information about him. He looked down as far as he could just so much that he could just get a better look at the patches residing on the shoulder of the man. The emblem looked familiar to Don, though he could not quite place it.

"You live in Winnemucca Nevada and own a... " He paused as he flopped to another page. "You own a... modified 2013 Shelby GT500. I would also assume that Morgan Chase is your significant other and that you were a Lance Corporal of the United States Marine Corps... with a… Michael Brook... am I missing anything basic about you, Donald?" He asked as he looked back towards Don.

Don stammered again for but a moment as he tried to triangulate his muscles to answer. "No..."

"Huh... I didn't think so." He paused as he straightened himself once again. "Now... what i am trying to figure out is why you do not like the man in his picture." He grew a slight snarl on his lips as he pointed down towards the paper.

"Huh??" Don choked out slightly. He knew something about him was very different then he should be, but his response was of pure disbelief.

"Listen, Donald. My peers and I have leading theories of 'Trans-universal' placement throughout the planes of reality and such. This might explain what happened to you and your friend..." Mr. Weaver shook his head as if he was challenged. "However... those same theories do not involve aliens."

Don stammered yet again slightly. The words of this man were nearly too much for him to mentally handle. This situation was far too excessive. It had to be a dream of some kind "I... don't understand..." His voice seemed even more deep as he struggled with his words. He now definitively knew he was quite far from being ‘human.’

Mr. Weaver grimaced heavily as he turned towards the table once again. This time he brought a mirror with him that he quickly held up before Don. What the mirror would show caused his guts to knot tightly.

In the mirror, the reflection that Don found himself looking at was, as he expected, far from human. Instead of the face he had grown several decades to know had an alien look to it. The first thing that he noticed directly was that his eyes had become bright green in color and that his pupils had formed into vertical slits. His nose had become flat and broad, leaving a blunt shaped contour mid face. The last notable thing was that his mouth was no longer the basic two lips, but rather two pairs of mandibles lined with pointed teeth that left his maw widely open. This was not the face of who he had once been; this was the face of a Sangheili, known better in game as an Elite.

"Who are you really, Donald?" Mr. Weaver challenged. "You are not the man on this license."

Don sat for a brief moment of gaping silence, hardly able to speak from shock. "You... who are you and what have you done to me?!"

"We have done nothing to you..." Mr. Weaver said as he crossed his arms. "What have you done to yourself?" He snarled slightly. "How did you two get here?"

Don cleared his throat slightly. "I don't know."

Mr. Weaver hummed as if he was displeased. "What were you doing before you crashed?" It seemed as if he preferred to jump straight into the questions.

"We were..." Don paused as he slightly flexed the muscles of his new mandibles. They were making speaking quite difficult. "We were driving."

"At what time of day was it? Where was your destination and how fast were you heading there?"

Don blinked with a slightly stutter "It was..." Don paused as he tried to replace the details. "It was late evening. We...were heading home and... uh"

"How fast?" Mr. Weaver was on point as he cut Don off as if to make sure he didn't stray from the question.

Don looked down in frustrated thought. "I don't know."

"I need to know how fast." Mr. Weaver stated tautly.

"Listen!" Don felt a growl gurgle from his throat. He did not do it intentionally, but it seemed to come with his growing senses of anxiety, fear, and frustration. "I have no idea on the hows or whys of how we got here!" He stopped abruptly in surprise at how loud his voice was projecting. It wasn't like him to really yell, but it had been loud enough to make Mr. Weaver's assistant to jump slightly.

Mr. Weaver's arms tightened in front of him as he grimaced. "Wates?"

"Yes sir?" Wates asked nervously.

"Leave the room please."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Just leave."

"Yes sir." The masked assistant quickly complied as he scurried out of the room.

As the timid of the two left the room, Mr. Weaver became quite rigid as he began to approach Don's side once again. "These almost supernatural reality rift things have been happening for several hundred years and yet we absolutely know nothing about them." He paused for a moment to watch Don's reaction to this. "These things will ripple throughout multiple star systems with such force that every radio, television, chatter, and microwaves will spaz out for over a minute until stopping. We don’t know what it is. All we get is the weird signal and then we will find an old helicopter or something from hundreds, or thousands, of years in the past." Mr. Weaver paused to pass a few breaths

Don just sat there in a state of confusion. Though he had his doubts, he hoped that maybe something would dawn on his sense of understanding. Of course Mr. Weaver's excitement was a bit unsettling as he couldn’t tell if it was that he was upset or not.

"We have the brightest people in the history of man trying to figure this out." Mr. Weaver continued. "Yet, like I have said... not one in the Office of Naval Intelligence has any idea on what the fuck these rifts are."

Don swallowed slightly at the mention of ONI. First he clearly recognized his newly gained strong resemblance to Halo Elite, and now he was finding that the man who was talking to him was from the real life equivalent to the KGB or CIA of the same lore. 

"Let's think... you are from the 21st century... so you would know of the "Wow Signal' from 1977” He paused. “It is a very specific signal, yet it is quite widely heard.”

"Sort of..." Don answered nervously.

"That was the first ever recorded instance of the rift frequency..." Mr. Weaver sighed heavily. "Do you like conspiracy theories, Donald?"

"Not really..."

"That is a shame... your kind of part of one now."

"What? Why?" Don jerked slightly at his restraints.

"Because you and your companion are the only living creatures to come through and live."

"Huh..." Don didn't know what to even say to something like that.

"So... that being said. I urge you to answer my questions as well as you can." He suggested firmly. "Now tell me... what were you doing before you got here?"

Don sighed heavily with a sense of annoyance "I’ve already told you."

A scowl grew across Mr. Weaver’s face. “I know you know something about how you are here, Donald, and I intend to find out whether or not I have to rip it out of your throat.”

“You can’t rip anything from me that I have not already told you!”

Mr. Weaver hummed with a smile. “Nothing you say? What is your favorite color?”

A lowly growl escaped Don’s throat. “Red.” You snarky bastard. “Why?”

“Oh… No reason.” He gloated slightly. “That was not too difficult… Though I wonder if it will be that easy to remove more information from you…” He turned from Don for a moment. “What color do you bleed, creature? Do you think it is red like your favorite color? Or something else?”

Oh fuck no. Don stiffened, not caring to really answer as he saw this going downhill quite quickly.

“I think we should find out.” Mr. Weaver gave a crooked smile and leaned forward over Don’s chest to firmly grip his lower right mandible. He could see Mr. Weaver now possessed some sort of instrument.

Don could do little more than straining against his restraints wiggle hopelessly as he tried to stop the man. However, the ONI bastard came wielding a vice grip, and with it he took ahold of the furthest back molar on the mandible. With the greatest fight the Human could, he quickly wrestled the tooth from its root. It was an excruciating experience. It felt as if a part of his face was being removed. Once the bastard had removed Don’s tooth, he was left without hardly any feeling in half of his face. He could feel the warmth of his blood dripping heavily from his mouth, leaving the hardly noticeable putrid taste of gore in his mouth. Despite the taste and the blinding pain, he gave only a few screams from this. His mind itself had been tortured enough with the transfer over to this world. Though he would hate to admit it, it helped him through this endeavor.

“Intriguing! Your tooth structure is simply amazing!” Mr. Weaver chuckled with a smug face.

“You fuck!” Don screamed out in anger, despair, and agonizing pain.

“Oh, you have seen nothing yet Don. I am going to get what you know at any cost. Now if you want this to end now just tell me how you are here.”

“I told you!” Don yelled. “I don’t fucking know!” The pain and the blood rendered it a bit more difficult for him to speak.

“Do you know what the worse part of being someone as methodical as myself?” Mr. Weaver skirted around Don’s answer as if uninterested. “Most of the people like me suffer from Obsessive Compulsion Disorder. And today…” He smiled widely. “I am finding that I am quite tick-full today. Your teeth are now not symmetrical and it is bothering me immensely.” He chuckled darkly. “Let me fix that.” With this, he leaned in and proceeded to pull the other three rear molars from Don’s other mandibles.

Mr. Weaver eventually left Don to deal with his pained and bleeding face after removing the other molars. The silence did little to help his situation. It forced him to listen to his own soft whimpers as the pain in his mouth very slowly dimmed on his swollen face. He had always thought he had a high pain tolerance, but this all was something else. In reality he just wanted to go home to Morgan and his family while forgetting this. What stung the most was that this was real. All of it was terrifyingly real. This was no nightmare. Now here he sat, in the body of a Sangheili, on an ONI interrogation table. He knew his chances of survival were essentially zero. It was all too clear that Weaver was either never going to be satisfied with the answers Don would give him, or that he was crazy. Don failed to figure which was more life threatening. Of course this whole situation was obviously frightening to him, but the situation was overbearing in mental urgency. His time alone was minimal as Weaver soon would return for more. By this time Don had been plagued by the injuries in his mouth. His mouth and cheeks, if he even had such a thing anymore, were still mildly swollen. It would have seemed that somehow he was healing fine despite the slight stinging taste of blood that still formed slowly in his maw.

With the sly smile of a fox, Weaver returned with a few items that Don could not quite make out. “Well, hello there, friend. I see you’re doing well from our earlier encounter.”  
A low, rumbling growl escaped Don’s pained throat.

“Oh stop that.” Weaver playfully mocked. “You’re doing fine. Though I think you would do much better if you actually told me the truth.” He crossed his arms as he said this.

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know!” Don protested, his mouth still stinging as it moved. 

“What was the color of the rift?” Weaver challenged loudly as he ignored Don’s plea.

“I don’t remember! Whitish yellow? What the fuck does it matter?!”

“I will ask the questions around here!” Weaver sternly spoke as he prodded his extended index finger harshly against Don’s chest. “Were there arks of electricity? Flames? Smoke?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“Damn it! Your kind made this anomaly, and you’re going to tell me how this shit works!” Weaver yelled.

“How about this...” Don growled lowly. “You go ahead and take your questions and shove them up your fucking ass!” Don shouted, knowing full well that Weaver was going to most likely be the death of him. 

At this strong vocalization, Weaver’s faces twitched very slightly. “Very well.”

With the tautest face that he had shown yet, Weaver moved around behind Don with the unseen items that he had entered the room with. Before he knew it, the surface he was strapped to began to tilt backwards until his head was lower than the rest of him. As the surface stopped Weaver came into view. In his hands were what Don would assume was a garden hose and a large cloth. 

So this is how it is going to be Don thought, knowing exactly what Weaver was going to do.

Without a word, Weaver turned the hose onto a calm stream before he draped the cloth over Don’s head. Don breathed in part way and held his breath just moments before Weaver began to let the water flow over the cloth. The fabric became soaked instantly, it’s sheet clung damply to Don’s face as the water quickly filled his nose. Luckily Don had trained for such a thing earlier in his life. The main obstacle with waterboarding was the mental aspect. Close the airways to your nose in the back of your throat and just let your sinuses fill with water. Once it is, then it’s no worse than swimming. Hold your breath and close your eyes and wait it out. Weaver seemed to be a bit rough with it to begin with. Judging by how tightly he had been holding the cloth around Don’s face and the length of time he was going with each duration of spraying water showed that he had it clearly set out for Don. It was quite the displeasing situation, but he managed to handle it well. He even tried his best to strain a bit against the restraints to play along. 

Eventually, after several long minutes in fact, Weaver removed the cloth as he quickly tilted the surface forward. Once Don was once again upright, Weaver moved around to face him. As the ONI came around to view, he couldn’t help but smile just ever so slightly in defiance.

“That… did not bother you?” Weaver asked with a slight frog in his throat. He sounded quite surprised. 

Don responded by ejecting the water in his nasal cavity with a exhale through his nose. “No. It didn’t”

Weaver cursed softly. “You know this just means that I have to escalate things now, right?”

“My answers won’t change…” He spoke and breathed calmly. “I have told you what I know and I will not give you false information.” 

Weaver paused for the slightest moment. “I admire your modesty, but I don’t really believe you.”

“Of course.” Don rolled his eyes. “Though I suggest you try more legitimate methods of interrogation.”

“Excuse me?” Weaver twitched again.

“You heard me, Weaver.” Don knew his chances were already zero, so if he was going to meet his means out of this life, he would be as much of a prick as he could be. 

Weaver stammered slightly as he tried to figure what to say. After a moment of saying nothing, he simply straightened his jacket and hair before leaving the room silently. After he had left the room, and the door closed tightly behind him, the room grew silent. Don sighed at this lightly in relief. He knew his time was to come, but at least he now had more time to try to figure out what the hell was happening. This thought was in vain of course, as he still had no inkling on what had happened to him. He was stuck alone and unsure on the surface as he wondered what Weaver would try next, and what he might be doing to Mike.

Don had fallen asleep for a good portion of what he could imagine as a good length of the day. While it was far from the desired time to sleep, it felt nice to feel something else besides pain and fear. Even though the rest was dreamless, it did a lot to ease his current situation. He was woken up abruptly by the opening of the door. His eyes opened quickly to see Weaver entering the door briskly with a revolver clutched in his hands. 

“Alright, Donald It has been 40 hours since I gave you time to think.” Weaver spoke loudly and quite aggressively. “I want you to tell me everything you know… Who you are, where you are from, and how the the rifts work.”

Don tensed up slightly at his demeanor. “We have already been over this all before…”

“That sucks for you.” With that he placed a round in the cylinder and flicked it closed.

“Listen. I can’t give you any more information than I have!” Don pleaded, growing very nervous against his attempts to not be. He was tired and weak from the lack of food. “Is this your way to look for inconsistencies?!”

Without a moment's notice, Weaver leaned forward quickly at Don and forcefully shoved the barrel of the revolver into his mouth. The metal of the weapon stamping against the back of his throat caused him to yelp out in a tearful scream of pain. His stomach wrenched harshly as he desperately fought with his gag reflex as Weaver fiddled with the specific position of the gun.

“I don’t care if you say you know it or not. You are going to tell me what I want to know. Do you understand?” Weaver questioned angrily at Don. “This is your first strike.” With that he pulled the trigger. Click 

Don jerked heavily as Weaver pulled the gun from his mouth; his throat heaved heavily as it was now freed from obstruction. 

“Get talking!” Weaver barked as he held the weapon limply in his hand.

Don inhaled painful as he tried to choke an answer. “Wh- what do you want to know?!” 

“You already know what I want, Donald!” Weaver aimed the revolver towards Don’s chest and pulled the trigger. Click “You got four more tries left to tell me about the rifts!”

“I don’t know anything about them!”

Click

“Fuck!” Don, now legitimately fearing, yelped. “It was whitish in color!”

“And?!” Weaver yelled as he held the gun against Don’s chest.

“And what?!” Don spat back at the deranged man.

Click “Do not fuck with me, Don! What else!?”

Don’s mind raced in a panic for details. “Our car went crazy and accelerated through it!”

Weaver stopped instantly, his body losing all rigidness. “What was that?”

“Our car…” Don swallowed. “Something hit the car and caused it to accelerate out of control. We passed through the rift thing that came out of nowhere and we… we fell through a void.”

“...And?”

“And we ended up here! That is it!” This was the best explanation Don had been able to give thus far. He hoped it was enough.

“That is interesting…”

“That is what happened and that is all I know. I can’t say anything else!”

Weaver seemed to consider this. “Well… you passed.”

“P.... Passed?”

“You passed positive for the inconsistency.”

“What?!”

Before Don could say anything else, Weaver spun the revolver around his finger so he could catch it by the barrel. Using the handle as a club, he repeatedly struck Don upside the head with it. Each strike caused his ears to ring and his vision blacken. He could taste blood and his vision was growing a dark purplish in the many times that Weaver dealt blows. It was so many infact, that Don had lost count. They abruptly stopped and the sound of a click sounded out. His vision quickly was returning to him just in time to see Weaver shove the barrel against his forehead.

“Last chance, Don.” Weaver demanded chillingly. “How do the rifts work?!”

Don spat out a soft tearing sob. “Just kill me.” He cried out softly as he closed his eyes tightly. 

Weaver shrugged slightly. “Alright.” He smirked as he pulled the trigger.

To much of Don’s surprise, the sharp pain of the round entering his head and the feeling of death did not come to meet him. What came instead was the sound of the click of the hammer against the strike plate, followed by Weaver’s maniacal laughter building swiftly in his ears. Don opened his eyes confused.

“You thought there was a real bullet in there?!” He yelled out before breaking into another session of hysterical laughter.

Don gawked slightly, not knowing what to feel or think.

“It was a dud!” Weaver proclaimed as he pulled the cartridge from the cylinder to reveal it had no primer. “My lord! You’re gullible aren’t you?”

Don felt his face twitch violently as a feral growl escaped his throat quickly.

“I just wanted to toy with you one last time before we parted!” Weaver smiled proudly. “Oh? Yeah we are going to put you two in cryo sleep and send you both to Reach so we can pull you apart and see what we can find out.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I would if I could. So long, Donald.” Weaver took himself, and his gun, out of the room.

The quiet left by Weaver’s exit was short lived as several individuals in scrubs entered the room. They gathered around Don as they tilted the surface back so that he was horizontal. Before he knew it, the entire rig he was strapped to was being shoved out of the room. The staff then began to push his rig down hallway. After a few moments of getting pushed down the corridor, the squeaking wheels of another rig and the sound of a disgruntled voice crying out in protest could be heard. Though at a passing listen the voice may have not been recognized by Don, with a careful listen it was the deeper tone version of none other than Mike.

“Let me fucking go you sick sons of bitches!” Mike demanded at the top of his terrified bellowing voice. 

“Mike!” Don shouted out quickly.

“Don!? Where the fuck are we?!” Mike, recognizing who the voice belonged to, demanded. “What the fuck is happening?!”

“I don’t know!” 

“Be quiet!” One of the men pushing Mike’s rig shouted.

“Why don’t you make me you fucking gook!” Mike shouted 

“I swear to god-” The man shouted back.

“What are you gunna do that you already haven’t done to me?!” Mike retorted loudly. “Let me out of here!” Before he could say more, the sound of something electrical buzzing loudly could be heard before he let out a panicked scream. 

With Mike left in quite audible tears, the rigs were pushed even farther until they came to a turn into a place that Don could only assume was a shower room. One of the men called all but two of the staff off to the hallway to guard the door as the rigs were slowed to stop. Their rigs were tilted up quickly before most of the staff left. Once upright, several clicks were heard from the rigs. The restraints suddenly unclamped from around the two, leaving them to fall limply to the floor. It was only by reflex of Don putting down before him to catch himself from busting his face on the floor. Standing freely now that they were off was impossible for the both of them. Their legs, as hard as they might, did not want to not work properly from the lack of tenseness in the unused muscles. Before they could hardly get their bearings, the ONI staff began their hose assault on them.

The water the ONI staff sprayed onto them was unpleasantly hot. It was of the temperature that was not quite hot enough to scald the skin, yet it caused discomfort. Whether it was intentional by the staff was unknown as Don and Mike knew nothing about the new skin now possessed. The washing went on for a good few minutes and the two went nowhere. Every time they attempted to get up the staff would blast the stream of water at them until they were knocked over.

While Mike had spent most of his time shouting profanity and slipping around frantically, Don was thinking critically about their situation. It would be quite a stretch, but he thought that they could possible push back and escape this facility. The staff had stupidly let Don and Mike free of their harness.

After several minutes of wearing the two down with the hose, the staff duo stopped the waterflow. Don and Mike both laid still as they breathed heavily as they tried to clear their mouths of liquid. The two ONI staff muttered amongst themselves briefly before the one without the hose approached Mike. As the man drew close, Mike barked out a demand to be left alone. His loud booming voice and sudden jerk caused the two ONI men to flinch.

Taking advantage of the pause, Don pushed himself off the floor and took hold of hose still clasped in the one staff member’s hands. Somehow the movement was not awkward and cumbersome for him, as if driven by some sort of instinctful will. As he took a tight hold of the hose, the ONI staff let go and stumbled away with a loud curse. The orderly quickly tried to pull, what Don would assume to be a side arm, out of his right pocket. Before he could, Don shifted slightly in his stance as he swung the end of the hose like a medieval flail. To much of the effect, the weighted head of the hose violently struck the side of the ONI staff’s head. The force of the collision was enough to instantly dispatch the man as his skull was caved in, leaving his body to fall heavily to the floor; the glint of his sidearm scattered onto the floor. Don scrambled slightly to pick up the gun before finding Mike slamming the other medical staffman’s head against the floor. 

“Mike!” Don called out to him as he stood, pistol in hand.

“What?!” Mike huffed as he looked up from the man he had just killed.

“Check his side for a gun!” 

At this point, the sound of the door opening could be heard. Don quickly turned himself to the towards the noise with the weapon raised, just in time for him to pull off a shot towards the rest of the medical staff that were entering. The off handed shot was surprisingly well placed, clearly well translated from his muscle memory, leading one of the men to fall to the floor from a bullet to the head. The others tried to scatter for cover as they struggled with their own weapons. Don and Mike too moved to the protection of two pillars in the center of the shower room. 

Don quickly peered out from behind his pillar to see three frantically placed medical staff that were trying to get themselves out of sight. Don raised the weapon to take two quick shots at one of them. One of the rounds clipped the man in the leg and the other struck the center of his chest, effectively killing him. Don snuck back into cover just as a small volley of rounds ricocheted off the edge of the pillar next to his head, causing him to jump and tighten his stance. Mike took a quick chance to help out by yelling and quickly waving his hands around the pillar with a swift glance. Of course the frightened men took several shots at Mike even after ducked back into cover. Using this as a distraction, Don turned around the other side of pillar and hastily fired another two shots that would hit the head and neck regions of the two remaining men.

“Fuck!” Mike exclaimed as he looked around to see no one else shooting at them. “Nice shot.”

“Mike, go get a gun and quit fucking around.” Don barked softly as he glanced at the doorway to see if anyone else was coming through.

Luckily for the two, no other ONI personnel were currently entering the room. With a brief pause in action, Don inspected the weapon that he had been using. The bronze colored firearm was tiny in his hand; it felt like he was holding a sub compact handgun. On the side of the weapon read ‘Mirasha Armories’ and it stated that it was a 12.7 model ‘M6C.’ Despite its simplicity, much like a Colt M1911, there was some grace to be seen in it’s design.

With a fresh magazine of 8, Don pulled the slide back to chamber a round. With a definitive weapon, the two of them could make a better stand against the ONI personnel. While he stayed conscious of the now closed door, he began to go around the shower house as he turned all of the faucets with the hot knobs on full. 

"Oh look at you!" Mike admired slightly. "I'll get the rest. Watch the door."

Don gave a quick nod before returning to his pillar. The air soon became heavy with the mist from the showers. The steam would give an improvised screen to make it difficult for anyone coming in. Even if the attackers would have infrared sights or visors, the steam would hopefully throw that off. It was a bit unnerving at how long it had been since someone had entered the room, however the sounds of men rushing to the ship section could be heard racing down the hallway. Don's grip tightened around the awkwardly small grip of the pistol.

Two men in what could be assumed as armored combat uniforms entered the large room cautiously. They were armed with two handed weapons that Don recognized from the games as Assault Rifles. They were of bullpup designs and were quite comparable to the FN F2000.With their ARs raised, they crept into the room as they scanned around for either Don or Mike. 

Don and Mike waited for several silent moments as the soldiers slowly made their way through the room. As soon as they got within a few paces from the two pillars, Don popped himself slightly out just to fire a round directly into the face of one of them. He quickly ducked back into cover as an volley of automatic fire graced the corner of his pillar. None of the rounds compromised the corner as it was seemingly made from metal. Mike, taking the distraction that Don had started, turned and fired twice into the shooting man. With a scream and the clattering of his armor and weapon to the floor. Mike fired several more shots towards the door and ended up emptying his pistol.

"I'm out!" Mike growled in annoyance.

"Grab one of those guns on the ground! The one closest to you!" Don nodded his head to show he was ready.

Mike checked quickly for a clear window before swiftly going for the AR. However, as he moved out of cover, a fast flying object flew through the air and struck Mike in the center of the chest. The object, which could be easily seen as a weapon loaded bean bag bounced harshly off him as he toppled over with a yelp. With Mike on the floor clutching his chest, Don lost his concern for cover and speedily attempted to pull his friend from the line of fire. This decision would show to be their downfall as the attackers were at the ready. Don felt something heavily prick into his neck just behind his jaws. Immediately he felt his nerves becoming numb, his vision harshly blurred as his limbs felt weak. Within seconds he lost sense of where he was and was soon met by the cold wetness of the floor.

"Well, look at you..." the somewhat faint sound of Weaver's voice. "I can promise you one thing, Donald. I will be sure that you are awake when they tear you open."


	4. Their New Kind

SGTLEGENDKILLEЯ  
Fate Twister (Redux Edition)

Act 1

Chapter 4  
“Their New Kind”

Don didn’t remember much besides blacking out with a view of Agent Weaver’s face. From that it seemed like there was nothing to feel but sheer numbness. He experienced no dreams and could not even begin to estimate the amount of time he had spent unconscious. Occasionally there would be a moment where he would begin to faintly hear things around him. This would always be short lived as there would be a slight prick before he would slam back into the numbness. From the little bit he did hear, he had been able to put together that they had been taken somewhere else to be ‘figured out.’ Once again, this was proving to be another situation that kept the chances of surviving this ordeal, low.

However, after what seemed like weeks without any sort of senses, the numbness began to dissipate. As his feeling began to come back to him, he was welcomed by the stinging of frozen nerves. His still deafened ears could somewhat hear sounds, of what he determined to be, was yelling and firefighting. Whether it was the distant sounds of gunshots or the feeling of his table being shook that woke him was a mystery. Regardless of the reasoning, he was waking conscious came back quite swiftly. He could feel his muscles twitching from their long and sore period of stiffness. After several moments, he was nearly fully awake. His eyes opened fiercely to see the emergency lights flashing red against the dimly lit gray ceiling.

With a grunt, he painfully sat up. He quickly took in his surroundings as he swallowed his abdominal pain to find that he had been left alone on an examination table. With no ONI personnel in the room, he looked down to make sure he was still mildly intact. After dealing with a brief amount of looking awkwardly down at his new legs for the first time, he noticed that there were several I.V. tubes inserted into his arm. Not wanting to wait any longer he swung his legs over the side of the table. With a rushed sense of determination he took a hold of the tubes and pulled them out. Ignoring the slight pain that he now felt, he stood carefully on his sore legs. He knew that he would have to take it slow, especially now that he was now bleeding from his arm in several places. Regardless of his condition, the continued sounds of gunfire surged his blood stream with adrenaline and tension danced on his nerves. 

He quickly found some bandages on a nearby tray for his arm before he took one last look around the examining room for anything he could arm himself with. It would seem that his luck of bad situation would be lightened as his eyes spotted the glint of a single pistol on a desk not far from the door next to a computer monitor. With closer inspection, it was easily identified as a M6C. Not only was it loaded with a full magazine of rounds, there were also two other full magazines lying beside it. After putting a bandage around his arm, he took the pistol and its supply of ammunition from the desk before carefully glancing out the doorway of the room.

He would find that the hallway, much like the room he had been in, was dimly lit with only emergency lights illuminating the way. Even though he had no idea how far he would get or where to go, he needed to do only two things: find Mike and survive this godforsaken place. Since the room was at the end of the hall, he swallowed and headed the only way he could. Moving cautiously and as silently as he could, he kept the pistol forward as he traversed the halls. With each step he took, the sounds of fighting drew closer. 

Within the sounds of the fighting, the cries of Human screams and firearms were accompanied by the sounds of alien shouting and weapons. From the fact that occasionally on his trek there were signs giving directions to a ‘Bridge’ and ‘Hangar’ sectors, he concluded that he was on some sort of ONI research vessel. With the sounds of whatever creatures the Humans were fighting, he assumed the situation as one of them being boarded by either some sort of space pirates or the Covenant. Either way, the scenario was stacked against him. He was clearly not at physical peak of what he could be while being in an unfamiliar location whilst being unclothed with only a single pistol to protect himself. Shaking his head at the thought, he knew he had to continue on; they had to try to get out alive. No matter what that might cost.

Further down the hallway there was the echo of a door being slammed shut, the sudden sound caused him to freeze in place. His breaths were rushed and panicked as he kept the iron sights of the handgun at the end of the hallway. His arm shook from anticipation and a slight tint of fear plagued at his nerves. The sounds of voices from down the hall could be heard over the now muffled fighting.

“We are so screwed!” One of the three voices whimpered.

“We’ll be fine. We just have to wait here, the escort ship will be here to save us soon.” Another answered.

“We don’t have any ammo. Our guns are out! What the hell are we going to do about the aliens?!” The first asked again. At the sound of this, Don began to move forward towards where they were not only to continue on but to hear them better.

“What you can do is shut the hell up and keep the lights off.” The third spoke up.

“Yes sir.”

Don continued on quietly towards the other end of the hallway. He peeked around the corner to see that the three men had taken to hiding in the small lounge like room that the hallway turned too. The door beyond them was shut and they watched and sat pressed against one of the large couches in the room. They were unarmed and clearly deathly afraid of what they were hiding from. With a slight involuntary growl, Don moved around the corner into their view with his weapon raised. The three saw him at the same time and all raised their hands in surrender. 

“Oh god! Don’t shoot! I don’t want to die!” The one yelled in fear. 

Don gave a slight hum of consideration before firing the weapon several times into each of them, emptying the magazine fully as he did. It was slightly excessive and inhumane, but after what he had gone through, it was somehow acutely satisfying to him. Dismissing the conflict with his inter morals, he reloaded the handgun before stepping over the three now lifeless ONI doctors to the closed door. The door had been locked from this side by a simple screen panel on the right side of the door. With a quick look and a little bit of common sense, the door was unlocked with the press of the warm touch screen. The door pinged softly as it opened, revealing yet another dim hallway that ran either direction. Before he could walk through the door, he was alerted to a set of fleeting footsteps running down the hall from the left.

“This is Harvey and Terry! We are running through Hall 7B towards the breach zone! Hang in there, guys!” One of them shouted as they approached the doorway.

Seeing his chance, Don prepared himself after giving a quick little peek to see how fast they were going and what distance they had to travel. He was about to take a desperate, and possibly rash chance. As the two guards were about to pass the door, Don charged out and fiercely gripped one by the neck. With unprecedented strength, he took the man clean from his feet and slammed him against the wall of the corridor. As the other still sprinting man struggled to stop his pace to turn and shoot, Don placed several rounds into his back. Without any time to spare, he tightened his grip on the man who he held against the wall. The ONI guard struggled against Don’s hold as he struggled for his sidearm. Dropping his own weapon, Don slapped the gun from the man’s hand as he drew it. 

With a growl and a sense of haste, Don took the man and threw him against the other wall of the corridor. His armor clambered loudly against the metal surface as he yelled out of pain and panic. Before the man had a chance to recover, Don took one of the two handed rifles that the men had dropped onto the ground the repeatedly drove the butt of the gun into the helmet of the man against the wall; each strike resulted in the crunching of metal as the man’s helmet became compromised.

With both of the men dispatched, Don stood with the weapon he had taken from the floor. It was quite similar to the assault rifles that had been used against him and Mike the first time they had fought back against the ONI personnel, although this one seemed smaller in size compared to the other. The nameplate showed the logo and name of ‘Misriah Armories’, along with the model number of MA5K as well as engraving that the weapon had been assembled on the planet Mars. The ammo counter that was on the top of the weapon showed that the magazine was full with 32 rounds of ammunition.

With a better weapon and after spending a moment to collect the spare ammo from the dead guardsmen, he set his bearings for the direction that the two had originally been going. The sounds of fighting were still quite audible and it did not sound far off. If there was any chance of help, and if the best bet was that the attackers were Covenant, there might be some hope for the two. The population of Humans that Don and Mike had encountered thus far seemed to only want the opposite of their wellbeing.

Don continued on towards the fight. By this time the sounds had softened due, to what he would assume, to be casualties. He was glad that he was more prepared, though without coverings he hardly felt adequately prepared for a fight. If anything was beneficial, it would be the fact that his trek was not known and his presence was not expected; if he played his cards right he could keep the factor of surprise through all of this.

Up ahead there was a junction of the corridor. From the sounds of it, the shooting was just around the corner. Surprisingly the sounds of Humans fighting back could still be heard, albeit clear there was only a few left. Several streaks of color zipped through the junction from the left down the perpendicular hall, stopping Don in his tracks. Several Human screams accompanied the streaks of what he would assume to be plasma.

Suddenly, a single ONI guard, frantic and armed with a shotgun, charged around the corner towards Don. The man was just as surprised to see him as Don was. With the assault rifle already raised, Don attempted to fire the weapon at the man's chest only to find that the safety had been left active.

Shit. Don assumed his end would be surely be here.

The man stopped in his tracks as he leveled his shotgun at Don's chest. With panic in his eyes he too attempted to fire his weapon. Too much of Don's favor, the hammer gave a loud click as the weapon failed to have any shells left.

The man froze in stupidity as he muttered a single word. "Fuck."

With a smile and a brief glance, Don took the safety off and emptied nearly half of the magazine into the man's torso. As the man fell, a loud squawking sound bleated out from the same corner. This was followed by a deep voice speaking a language that Don didn't understand.

Just as fast as the guard had, a group of six foot tall avian creatures, each, except for one were armed with alien weapons and an illuminated circular shield on their wrists, bolted around the corner. The one that was not was slightly different from the others, it was stockier and had a large feathered plume on its head and neck. They came to a quick halt and hid behind their shields as they watched Don intensely. These avians were familiar to him; he knew them as Jackals from the games; he faintly remembered their actual names being the Kig’Yar. After a few moments had passed, the plumed one, a Skirmisher, stepped forward past the others and squawked loudly as it looked at him confused. Suddenly a trio of large figures came from behind the pack. The new figures were fully armored and very authoritative in their mannerism; these were Sangheili, better known as Elites from the lore. 

At the sight of the group, Don immediately dropped his weapon, letting it tumble to the floor as the group glared him down. To seem as least menacing as he could, Don lifted his hands as a sign of surrender. This act seemed to cause greater confusion amongst the Jackals, leaving them to chirp and tilt their heads at each other. One of the Elites, the one clad in decorative Maroon armor, took a step forward and spoke demandingly at Don. He cringed slightly, not at the sounds that the Elite was making, but rather at the realization that he had no idea what to say or do to communicate back to them.

“I don’t understand.” Don shrugged very slightly as he swallowed nervously.

The Elite jerked his head back with an unsure glare at Don while the other two muttered amongst himself. Unlike his confused counterparts, the Skirmisher pulled out a Personal Data Assistant of some sort before speaking into it. A loud beep rang out and a deep toned voice called out from the device. As the device sounded off, the Maroon Elite snarled slightly before having a very quick conversation with the group. With that he pointed at Don and waved him to follow. Not wanting any confrontation, he quietly nodded and complied.

With the escort of all of the Elites and Jackals, Don was lead throughout the station. He knew not of Mike’s whereabouts or where or even what they were on. From what he could see, this was an ONI station of some kind and the Covenant had boarded by force. There were many bodies of men and alien alike scattered around the halls, each were surrounded by scorch marks and their own bullet casings. Each of the corpses had been burned in high degrees and had clearly been overwhelmed. From the amount of brass casings on the ground it seemed like they had somehow put up one hell of a fight. As the group led him on, more members of the Covenant were seen waiting along the way as if they were waiting for further orders. Each would salute the Maroon Elite and follow behind the group; clearly this Elite was fairly important. The feeling of concern could be felt from the escorting aliens; the sounds of their confused and questioning chitters echoed quietly throughout the halls and passing rooms of the ship. After a few more moments of walking, a loud hum of a generator could be heard. 

The group eventually turned around a corner into a cafeteria-esc room. The room was clad in the same metal and gray color that the ONI personnel seem to love, however there seemed to be one significant difference to this room. The wall opposing the entrance have been breached violently inward from the exterior of the ship’s hull. Protruding through the breached wall was a well sized tube that was clearly a means of docking. Though the breach was far from being a cleanly made insertion, the open space around the docking tube that was not touching, had been filled with a sort of illuminating electrical pane of what could be described as an energy barrier. Without missing a beat, the Jackal escort took Don straight onto the docking tube. He only stopped to glance back at the interior of the Human ship. There was a strange feeling that he felt hint over his worry of Mike’s wellbeing. It was the unfamiliar quirk that this might be the last ‘Human’ interior he would see for quite a long time. That was only if he would actually survive.

Eventually the escort brought Don to an open room that seemed to be for a gathering of a few dozen people. While there seemed to be no one there at the time, it was only a few moments before the sounds of arguing Jackals were approaching. Within moments another escort came into the room. The members of this group were struggling with the heavy body of a nearly unconscious Mike, a sight that put Don greatly at ease. This solace was short lived however, as a door before them opened to a great number of highly decorated Elites coming through. This group was escorting a new figure into the room that Don had yet to see. The figure was small; slightly smaller than the stature of a Human, frail in build and atop of a floating gold throne. As this individual entered the room, the entirety of the Covenant members lowered their head in respect to him; this was a Prophet.

The Maroon Elite began to speak to the Prophet. Don wished he could follow along, but to him, the Sangheili language was complex mess of growling and warbling. From the sound of the Elite's voice, he was not in a playful mood. The Prophet looked between the Elite and Don several times while he was being spoken too. Unfortunately, all of the shooting and talking had woken up Mike who immediately blessed the room with his charm.

"Who the fuck are you people?!" Mike, with the grace of a truck slamming into a brick wall, jerked into the one sided conversation.

The Maroon Elite snarled in disgust. "As you can see, Holy One… They only speak the language of the parasite."

"What is it too you?" Mike shot back aggressively as he stood carefully by himself from the two Elites carrying him.

"Explain yourselves!" Mr. Maroon shouted at the two.

Before either of them could answer, the Prophet brushed his hand on the Zealot's arm, giving him the cue to silence himself.

"I am the Vice Minister of Exploration, and I have questions that require answers.” The Prophet spoke with a sense of fine grace. “Such as to why do you not know of your own language, Sangheili?" As he posed the question, everyone in the room shifted to allow more room for the Prophet’s interrogation.

Don rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he picked his brain for a false answer. "Both of us were beaten and tortured psychologically for several days." It wasn't a necessarily terrible excuse. 

"Psychological?" The Prophet asked as if he did not quite understand the word. "You received trauma to yourselves?"

"Yes"

"Interesting..." he paused to stroke his chin." I was not aware that the Parasite had taken any of us..."

"They are called Humans, sir." Don added dumbly to try to at least give some polite help.

The Prophet hummed. "How were you captured?" He asked.

"We don't remember...." Don answered after a pause.

"Do you remember your state of birth?" He questioned skeptically.

Don tightened his mouth closed, not knowing what to say.

"Do you know who I am? Or mother's name?" he paused “Or... even your oath?”

"No." Don answered with his hands balled slightly at his sides. His answer caused a slight chuckle through the others of the room.

"What use are you possibly to the Covenant without such knowledge?" The Prophet frowned. "I hardly could label you both as Sangheili with your present standings."

The Maroon Elite leaned forward to mutter something into the Prophet's ear.

"What would I like done?" The Prophet beamed to him with a slight smile. "Zealot Quotomnee… I would implore you to dispose of these two as you see fit." He answered as he turned to leave.

"Of course." The Zealot bowed his head to the fleeting Prophet.

With his escort, the Prophet exited through the same doorway he had entered before, leaving the rest of the Covenant members that only stood and watched respectfully. As the door closed, the Zealot turned back to face Don and Mike with a smile. He gave a quick order to the spectating Covenant troops in which a good portion of them quickly vacated the room. As they did the Zealot paced back and forth in thought.

“Now… what to do with you two.” He spoke in an English tongue as he grasped a small hilt-esc item in his fist from his side. “Do I leave you to the birds or do I take the pleasure of ending you both myself?” He asked as he stopped pacing to look at them.

With such a trying scenario, Don stood firm and silent with his fists clenched at his side. He hoped that there might be some further trial or test to compete for their lives. Despite his firmness, the loud clatter of struggle sounded off behind him. Too much of his dismay, Mike had decided to take action by swiftly grappiling one of the Jackals that had gotten too close to him into a choke hold whilst lifting its side arm.

“Drop your weapon.” Mike demanded fiercely as he held the weapon to the Jackal’s head.

In light of this unfolding of cards, the Zealot began to give a hearty laugh.

“I’ll fucking do it! Don’t fuck with me, bitch!” Mike shouted as he tightened the weapon against the Jackal’s head. 

“What will you do, sir?” The Zealot continued to laugh. "You are without shields or armor. You may kill the Kig'Yar as I care not of his life. I have more pressing duties to lose rest too."

Don swallowed nervously; this guy was the kind of rigid and cold hearted bastard that he despised.

"Please. Continue, filth. I will simply let his fellow warriors avenge him." The Zealot smirked. "It is your play."

Mike shook slightly at this. Even in high stress situations such as this, his morals got the best of him. "Fuck..." He grimaced as he dropped the weapon and let the Jackal free.


	5. An Unclear Method of Disposal

SGTLEGENDKILLEЯ  
Fate Twister (Redux Edition)

Act I

Chapter 5  
“An Unclear Method of Disposal”

"Why do you have to make it sound like it's my fault?" Mike questioned with a huff as he was shoved from behind.

"Because it would’ve been a lot easier to bullshit up a story if you hadn't woken up and started fucking yelling." Don growled at him with distaste. 

"Oh, shut your fat fucking mouth!"

One of the Elites that were escorting the two shouted something at them; most likely he was trying to tell the two to quit talking. The Zealot must have pulled some strings, and now they were being taken elsewhere for whatever reason. For the time being it was nice not having to deal directly with some secret black tape government agency, or some power tripping officer looking for a fix. But Don hoped that this was not going to last for long.

"All I’m saying... is that you should’ve let me do the fucking talking, Don." Mike continued under his breath.

"Oh yeah? That would’ve been just great for us." Don rolled his eyes.

"It couldn’t be any worse than what you got us into." Mike snapped back.

“You live your life from behind the scope of a rifle, Mike.” Don grumbled in annoyance. “What the fuck do you know about negotiations?”

“Don’t think for one minute that I-!” Mike was suddenly struck by a shock of electricity, causing him to yelp and jolt forward slightly. One of the escorts wielded some sort of staff. 

While it was decent enough to have a moment of quiet, the situation stayed in its stale state. As with the lasting list of current events in their lives, neither of them had any idea what was to become of them. They might not be killed off as per say, though they would assume it would be far from any pleasantries they could hope for. The only guarantee for them now was the lengthy hall and the cold metal bulkhead beneath them. 

“Don…” Mike started up quietly. “We could take these guys. Come on.”

“Fuck. No.”

“You are such a fucking pussy.” Mike sighed.

“What are we going to do naked, Mike?!”

“I don’t know, Don.” He huffed loudly. “We won’t know until we try.” 

Don would have responded, however the sounds of Mike receiving another shock from the escorts rang out behind him.

“Fuck this shit.” Mike muttered through labored breaths. “If you don't help then I will do it myself!”

“Shut up.” Don exhaled tautly

“How about you shut up!” Mike shouted back just before getting shocked yet again. “You know you can shock him too!” He protested back in vain to the escorts.

With very few further outbursts, the escorting Elites led them to a section of their ship that seemed to house a series of large holding cells meant only for several occupants. They were marched up to one with a single Elite inside, before being forced into said cell. As soon as they were a few steps in, the escorts threw a bundle of cloth at each of them as the gate closed. With the door closed, the escorts turned and left without even a passing glance. 

As they watched the escorts leave their view, they turned their gaze to the bundles of cloth that had been thrown at them. It was really of no surprise to either of them that, while they might have been bland in terms of material and coloring, conceptually the clothing was the same in regards to the Human counterparts that they were used too. The only key differences were the specific subtleties such as the type of stitching and the lack of belt loops or so forth. 

“Well, at least we have clothes now… right?” Mike tilted his head unsure.

Before Don was able to form a response, the voice of the Elite in the cell with them was heard.

“You speak the language of the gods?” The Elite inquired as he stood from one of the several bunks in the cell.

“Yes.” Don answered quickly as he turned to face the new face.

“I believed that I was one of the very few…”

“It is just something we picked up in the field.” Don answered quickly before Mike could contribute, all while keeping the flow of speech casual to avoid suspicion.

“Oh! So you two are heavily skilled with the art of linguistics like myself?” He asked excitedly.

“Not really…” Don sighed as he turned to face the Elite as Mike continued to try to figure out what clothing they had received. “The both of us are naturally good with other languages.”

“And you do quite well with it. In fact, I might say you are the first I have heard to master their sentence structures!” He commented.

“Thank you” Don smiled very slightly as a bit of fear charred at his nerves, he had forgot that the way the Elites spoke was very proper when it came to speaking English. “We had quite an amount of time to learn it.”

“Were you also enlisted on translation or interpreter role?”

“No.” Don glanced back at Mike to see that he was pulling a pair of pants up to his waist after figuring the cloth bundle out. He then began to do the same.

“Then where?” The Elite asked.

“We were scouts that were tasked with reconnaissance in the edges of space.” Don formed their lie with a calm and believable tone. “The Humans discovered us and killed most of us… We had the luck of only be taken captive and interrogated for several weeks…”

“By the gods…” He frowned slightly before smiling. “Well… for what it is worth, you now must speak their language as well as our native tongue.” He chuckled.

Don paused for a moment. “Honestly? Neither of us remember much before being captured. They have… strange chemicals.”

“Do they really?” The Elite tilted his head as if interested. “I am sorry for your loss, however the fact they can chemically induce one into an amnesia is very intriguing.”

“Very,” Don nodded in agreeance. Well, whatever had happened, it was intriguing.

“Do you remember your names?”

“Our names…” Don blinked as he swallowed to give himself some time to think of names. It only took that small amount of time to make two with a bit of association between words and letters “My name D’rok and he is K’an.”

The Elite hummed slightly. “My name is Thenta.” He smiled before saying something in his natural tongue.

Don nodded slightly while he was confused.

Clearly picking up the stint of confusion, Thenta spoke something else before pausing. “Do you not know your native tongue?” He asked with a great amount of concern.

“As he said…” Mike butted in slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head. “The Humans have quite the array of chemicals. They might have damaged many parts of us; we have no idea.”

“I see…” Thenta looked down in thought. “Then you should probably be taught. You might even remember if you are a bit refreshed.”

At this moment, Mike decided to interject himself into the conversation. “Right now I could give a fuck.” He grumbled as he pushed passed Don and the Elite for the beds in the corner of the cell. “I need to get some sleep before dealing with any more of this bullshit.”

“Don’t mind him… we have been through a lot.” Don explained.

“It is alright, D’rok…” The Elite sighed. 

“It’s nice to meet you, regardless” Don would have to learn to speak in a more proper fashion

“If you do not mind me asking: why are you two here?”

“I don’t really know. I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying.”

“Understandably.” Thenta hummed softly.

“Why are you here?”

“It is quite the tale…” He sighed heavily.

Don looked briefly at Mike. “I think that we will have a lot of time for many tales.”

“I guess you are right…” Thenta sighed. “I was recently convicted with disorderly conduct two weeks prior." He admitted.

"What did you do?"

"I struck another warrior in a drunken stupor due to a bad hand at cards."

D’rok hummed slightly as if to show that he understood.

"As I said..." Thenta sighed. "I was heavily intoxicated. There was also a hefty pot riding on that hand."

"That’s what you get for gambling" Don shrugged.

"Ah, but these are amazing times. For I was a planetary analyst on the reconnaissance fleet, Patience and Vigilance." He explained in excitement. "When we discovered the Humans we made extensive study of them. We scanned their planets for Forerunner technology and other things to find that they are quite similar to the composition of the gods."

This caused Dom to tilt his head slightly. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"I am saying that it would not be unreasonable to theorize that they are Forerunner.”

"It is possible... Though I think that should wait until K'an and I have rested" Don nodded.

"Of course..." Thenta bowed his head. "Do not let me bother you."  
Thenta moved off for his own bed, leaving Don in the center of the cell to figure out his bundle of clothing.

It was refreshing to the both of them that they would get an actual session of rest as opposed to being forced and thrashed around in an ONI facility. And while their sleep held hardly a single dreams, it was a well taken rest. Don woke up slowly to find Mike sitting on a wall mounted bench near the bunks. Without wanting to speak out suddenly, he sat quietly looking over Mike for the first time.

For what it was worth, Don figured that they could have still somehow been in a much worse situation. If what Weaver had said was right, and these frequency instances were as random as he claimed they were, there was no telling whether they would have ended up as Sangheili or even within a place with an atmosphere to breath. As much as he would hate to point out, at least Mike seemed like a fairly well built and healthy example, albeit a Sangheili example.

“Well…” Don sighed carefully to not startle Mike. “I guess we have long surpassed the whole ‘it is a dream’ stage.” He pointed out with another sigh.

Mike, for once held no reply. The worry could be seen clearly in his face; he was not handling this all well.

“Are you alright?” Don asked dumbly.

“Nope.” Mike replied coldly without breaking his glazed view.

“At least you’re alive, right?” Don tried to make light of the situation.

“Oh thank fuck!” Mike exhaled heavily. “I have not slept hardly at all since we got here, we have been tortured, drugged, shot at, and that is after we got sucked into some fucking Sci-Fi thing, but thank god we are alive, Don.” He was clearly not having this.

“I know what we have been through, smart ass. I was just seeing if you were physically alright at this time.”

“What the fuck does it matter? We need to get the fuck out of here.” Mike finally broke his gaze to glare at Don.

“I know....”

“We need to get out… because this shit is fucking bad!”

“It isn’t all that bad…” Don retorted in a slight sense of stupidity.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Mike growled as he began to lose his temper. “I can’t believe you just said that, you prick.”

“Well fuck me, right?!” Don was becoming unnerved now. “I am sorry that I’m trying to keep the both of us calm and not throw my hands up like a little bitch.”

“Thank you for the kind words, dick head. Hey, instead of thinking of ways to piss me the fuck off with names and shit, how about you think of a way to get us out of here!” Mike raised his voice in anger as he stood from his seat, towering over Don.

“How about you calm the fuck down?”

“How about you tell me why I should?!” Mike mocked.

“Why are you even worried!?” Don shot back with great annoyance. “You don’t even have anything to go home to!”

Before Mike drove his fist into Don’s cheek, he knew what he said was greatly uncalled for. Mike had always been the more mentally unstable of the two, so there was always the possibility of a rage trigger that was for the most part, avoidable. In this instance, Don had severely tripped the trigger.

As Don recovered from the painful blow, Mike took him by the shirt and pulled him fiercely from the bed. It was quite obvious that he knew not his own strength as Mike overexerted his movement, causing the both of them to fall halfway across the cell. With his legs stumbling over each other, Don took a grip of Mike to fully pull him to the floor with a heavy thud. Once the two had hit the floor, Mike gave his most effort to continue striking and harming Don. After several scratches and bruise worthy punches and kicks were delivered, Don managed to get the upper hand as he rotated himself behind Mike. Don, quickly restraining Mike’s arms and legs, soon ended the short lived fight between the two with Mike face down against the floor.

“Let me fucking go!” Mike yelled as he strained against Don’s grip.

“You need to calm down!” Don spoke sternly as he kept his hold firm.

“I...I can’t.” Mike choked loudly. “We … we have to go back.” Without any further protest, he broke down into tears.

Don sighed; he hated seeing his friend like this, however this had happened before. Mike quickly lost himself to sobs, letting himself go limp. Don let go of him before returning to his feet.

“I can tell that you two have a lot of history together.” Thenta commented quietly from the other side of the cell.

“We are brothers.” Don answered with a sense of proud guilt.

Thenta nodded simply before returning to his silence, leaving Don to watch Mike cry as a broken man for several lengthy moments.


End file.
